


wish you the worst, wish you the best

by arysa13



Series: Two Week Challenge - Round Two [11]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Break Up, Established Relationship, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-01-11 09:46:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18428036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysa13/pseuds/arysa13
Summary: Clarke and Bellamy are in a happy relationship until Octavia has an accident and he has to go across the country to look after her.





	1. Fatal Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eyessharpweaponshot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyessharpweaponshot/gifts).



> Jen, you asked for angst...

Bellamy is the one who encouraged Clarke to start her own business. Almost two years into their relationship, Clarke having just finished med school and knowing she absolutely didn’t want to be a doctor. But she hadn’t known that when she started, and it’s what her mom wanted, and Clarke has never been a quitter. She still told everyone she wanted to be a doctor. Because it’s impressive, right? To be able to tell people you’re a doctor. And her mom was so proud of her. And her dad would have been so proud of her. But Bellamy saw right through her.

It took some convincing, but Clarke eventually came around on the idea of starting her own graphic design business. Art has always been what she truly loves, and with Bellamy whispering to her _you deserve to do something for yourself for once_ , she decided to go for it.

And now, two months later, she’s holding a launch party, because why the hell not? She’s got family and friends and potential clients around her, and, most importantly of all, the love of her life, her sun, her rock, Bellamy, at her side, looking so goddamn proud of her.

“I knew you could do it,” he whispers, kissing her cheek as yet another person walks away after saying their farewell and congratulating her again. Clarke leans into his side, trying to use him as an anchor so she doesn’t start feeling too giddy about the whole thing. It doesn’t work.

“We don’t even know if I’m going to be successful yet,” Clarke says. “Maybe I’ll crash and burn in the first month.”

“You won’t,” Bellamy assures her. His arm wraps around her, pulling her even closer.

Clarke looks up at him. It’s hard to fathom his unwavering faith in her sometimes. “But what if I do?” she asks.

“Then we’ll work though that together if the time comes,” Bellamy says. “Just like I know we can work through anything else together. But you’ve got this. I know you do.” He plants a kiss on the top of her head.

“You’re the best person in the world, you know that?” Clarke tells him. Bellamy chuckles.

“Come on, almost everyone is gone. We can sneak out,” Bellamy says. His eyes drop to her cleavage. “I’ve been trying to keep my hands off you all night.”

Clarke laughs. “What, you think you’re getting lucky just because you were nice to me?”

Bellamy smirks at her. “No, I think I’m getting lucky because you’ve been eyeing me like I’m a piece of meat all night.”

“Am I that transparent?”

“I know you, Clarke,” Bellamy says. Clarke feels her heart twinge. He does know her. Like no one else does. She’s not sure how she got so lucky as to get to be with him. She rolls her eyes at him.

“Okay, let’s go,” she says, leaning up to kiss him. “Otherwise I’ll end up asking you to fuck me in the bathroom, and that didn’t go so well the last time we tried it.”

Bellamy laughs. “Yeah, but it was memorable,” he grins. “If a little unsexy.”

“Bellamy, you fell in a urinal. Unsexy doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Bellamy is still grinning. “Point taken. Let’s stop talking about it before you kill my hard on.”

“You’re hard already, baby?” Clarke whispers huskily, eyes dropping to his crotch.

“Yeah, and if you keep using that voice on me it’s only going to get worse,” Bellamy says. “You look so goddamn sexy tonight, Clarke,” he says, and it’s his turn to drop his voice all low and seductive. Clarke shivers. She rubs her hand over his chest.

“Let’s go,” she says. “And I’ll take care of that for you.”

They give a hurried goodbye to the last couple of hangers on, and dart outside. The night is warm and breezy, the kind of air that gives Clarke the feeling like things are happening. Like anything could happen.

They get into the back seat of their Uber and Bellamy takes her hand, his fingers linked in hers all the way home. Clarke leans back against the seat, unable to keep the smile from her face. She glances at Bellamy. She’s sure she’s never been so undeniably happy in all her life.

Later, after he’s made her come several times, she wraps herself in his arms and buries her head into his chest, her love for him almost overwhelming.

“Everything okay?” he asks, stroking her hair.

“Yeah,” Clarke says. “Just thinking about how grateful I am for you. I never could have done this without you. It’s a scary thing to quit something sure and secure and try and start something new. But I knew I could do it, because I’ve got you. You make me feel safe.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy whispers, lips against her hair. “Marry me.”

“What?” She pulls away, searching his eyes to see if he’s serious. He’s never looked more earnest in all his life.

“I was going to wait until our anniversary. But I don’t want to wait. Will you marry me?”

Clarke breaks out into a grin. “Yes,” she laughs. “Yes.”

 

-

 

A week later, Clarke has had two clients. She’s anxious that business won’t pick up, but Bellamy reassures her that once she gets her name out there, once her satisfied clients start crowing about her, she’ll be so inundated with jobs she’ll be able to pick and choose. Clarke hopes he’s right.

She’s working on designing wedding invitations (for a client, not for herself), but she keeps getting distracted by the giant rock on her left hand, feeling giddy every time she looks at it. She keeps fiddling with it, and staring at it, still not used to it on her finger. She’s about to give up on the invitations and go for an early lunch when Bellamy rings.

“Hey,” she answers, putting him on speaker while she fiddles around on the computer. “Did you want me to pick up something for dinner tonight, because I was thinking—”

“Clarke,” Bellamy interrupts, his voice ragged and weak. Clarke’s stomach drops. She picks up the phone and puts it to her ear.

“What’s wrong?”

“There was an accident,” he says. “Octavia—” he swallows. “She’s alive but she’s in a critical condition. I have to fly home.”

“Okay. Okay,” Clarke says. “I’ll be right home. We’ll get the next flight.”

Bellamy is already mostly packed for both of them by the time she gets home, and has already bought the plane tickets. He’s in the bedroom, zipping up his suitcase. Clarke goes to his side and rubs his arm to comfort him.

“Are you okay?” she asks. He’s wearing an expression of stoicism, and he nods shortly, his jaw tight. He’s very clearly not okay, but Clarke knows better than to push him. He’ll open up when he’s ready. “What happened?” she asks.

“Car accident,” Bellamy says tersely. “She accidentally ran a red light. They’re taking her into surgery as soon as they can. Won’t know more until we get there. Flight is in two hours.”

“You want to get to the airport early and have a drink or two?”

Bellamy nods. He swallows, and a tear leaks from his eye. “Clarke—” Clarke doesn’t hesitate. Her arms circle around his neck, and he grips her around her waist tightly, burying his head against her shoulder. “What if she doesn’t make it?” he whispers.

“She will.”

“But what if she doesn’t?”

“Then we’ll get through it together.”

 

-

 

Clarke knows Bellamy hates hospitals, knows it reminds him of his mother’s final months, when it became clear the chemo wasn’t working. She grips his hand tightly, and leads the way to Octavia’s room. It’s hard for Clarke to see Octavia like this, looking weak and bruised and broken, so she can’t imagine what it must be like for Bellamy. He looks sick to his stomach, and he’s squeezing Clarke’s hand so tight she thinks it might break.

Octavia’s eyes crack open. “Hey, big brother,” she groans. Bellamy practically sobs in relief. He drops Clarke’s hand and is at Octavia’s side in a second.

“You’re okay,” he says.

“I’m alive, if that’s what you mean,” she says. “And apparently my surgery went well. But I feel like hell. Hey, Clarke.”

“Hey,” Clarke smiles. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

A doctor enters the room. “You must be Octavia’s brother. Bellamy, right?”

Bellamy nods. “My fiancée, Clarke,” Bellamy introduces.

“I’m Dr Nyko. I’m happy to tell you the surgery went well. Provided there are no further complications, Octavia should make a full recovery. But she will need physical therapy.”

“How long for?” Bellamy asks. Nyko tilts his head, considering.

“A couple of months, maybe.”

“Fuck that,” Octavia groans.

“You’re lucky you’re alive,” Nyko reminds her. He turns his attention back to Bellamy. “We’ll keep her in here for a little while longer. Will you be around to take care of her after that, until she’s fully recovered?”

Bellamy glances at Clarke. “Yeah, of course.”

 

-

 

They stay at Octavia’s place. It’s a house meant for a family, but Octavia lives there alone, since her husband passed a year ago. Clarke doesn’t know how she could stand it.

Clarke comes out of the bathroom and walks into the guest bedroom, where Bellamy is sitting up in bed, glasses on, reading a crime thriller. Not his usual genre, but he’d forgotten to pack a book and it’s one of the only books Octavia owns. Clarke crawls into bed beside him, and snuggles into his side.

“I’m glad Octavia is going to be okay,” she says. “Even if she does need physical therapy.”

Bellamy puts his book down. “I know. It could have been so much worse. But she’ll have me to help her through it as well. Though I’m sure we’ll drive each other crazy,” he laughs.

Clarke smiles, just for a moment, before she swallows. “Bellamy, I—” she starts. “I have to go back. You know I want to stay here with you, but with my business just starting… I can’t be away for that long.”

Bellamy looks at her, then slides down, so he’s lying beside her. “I know,” he whispers. “I don’t want you to go either, but I know you have to.”

“I’ll come back whenever I can,” Clarke whispers. “And we can talk on the phone every day.”

“Two months will fly by. And then I’ll be back and we can plan our wedding.” Clarke gives him a watery smile. When had she started crying? Bellamy wipes away a tear with his thumb. “Hey,” he says soothingly. “It’s going to be okay, I promise. I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

 

-

 

Their goodbye at the airport is lot more tearful than Clarke would have liked. It’s so dumb. She hasn’t even left yet and she already misses him. How the fuck is she going to go two months without seeing him every day? She cries for the first hour of the flight, until she’s all out of tears. Then she just feels hollow.

She calls him as soon as she lands, forgetting about the time difference. He answers anyway, voice hoarse from sleep.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Clarke returns. “Sorry, I forgot it’s like midnight there.”

“It’s okay. How was your flight?”

“Shitty. I can’t wait to get home.”

“I’ll bet.”

There’s a silence, and Clarke bites her lip. “I should let you get back to sleep. I miss you.”

“I miss you too, baby,” Bellamy says. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She hangs up, and then she’s crying again.

 

-

 

Clarke manages to distract herself from Bellamy’s absence with work. In her second week, she picks up a few new jobs, and then, all of a sudden, she’s _busy_. She stays at her office until at least six most nights, working on invitations, cards, and banners, among other things. Then she has to deal with the business side of things too, which she kind of hates, and it always takes her much longer than it should because she procrastinates and grumbles about it the whole time.

She’ll call Bellamy when she gets home from work most nights, try to fill him on her day, and he does the same. It’s mostly just mundane stuff though. _I got a new client today. Octavia is out of the hospital. My mom is coming over for dinner._ It’s too hard to talk properly over the phone. She wants to tell him how hard it is without him. How she feels overwhelmed by all the work she has to do, and she wishes she could curl up in his arms at the end of the day and have him tell her it will be okay. She wants to tell him about how she accidentally fucked up and charged a customer too much and they yelled at her until she cried. But she can’t say any of that over the phone. She doesn’t want to make him feel guilty for looking after his sister instead of her. So she lets him think everything is perfect, and she refuses to cry while she’s on the phone to him.

She wants to talk to him every day, but she’s so busy, and half the time by the time she gets home it’s too late to call. So she’ll send him a goodnight message for him to wake up to, telling him she loves him and she misses him.

She’s exhausted by the time she gets to bed. Yet she can’t fall asleep for hours, and she knows it’s because he’s not there. Her chest aches she misses him so badly. She’ll scroll through her photos of him on her phone, or his Instagram or his Facebook profile, until her eyes hurt and her eyelids physically can’t stay open anymore. And every morning when she wakes up, she has that same gut-wrenching burst of dread when she realises he’s not in bed with her. She takes a few deep breaths, and reminds herself she’s one day closer to seeing him again.

 

-

 

It’s been over a month when Bellamy asks her when she’s visiting. Clarke stops short, feeling immensely guilty. She’d forgotten she even made the promise to visit.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I’m so busy. I’m not sure.”

Bellamy sighs, and Clarke feels like he’s annoyed at her. Has he been waiting for her to organise a trip this whole time? “It’s fine, Clarke. I get it. I just miss you is all.”

“I know, baby. I miss you too. I want to see you, I really do. It’s just it’s five hours there and five hours back, and I wouldn’t get any work done while I was with you,” Clarke babbles. God, she’s such a shitty girlfriend. _Fiancée,_ she reminds herself. She’s so used to the ring now she forgets it’s there sometimes.

“Okay,” Bellamy says, a little shortly.

“It’s only another month,” Clarke says, trying to reassure them both. They can do it. And then they’ve got the rest of their lives together.

“Actually,” Bellamy says, and Clarke’s chest tightens. “They think it’s going to be a little longer.”

“How much longer?”

“Not sure. But Octavia doesn’t have anyone else. It’s just me. I have to—”

“I know,” Clarke says quickly.

“If you get the time, see if you can make the trip.”

“I’ll try. I miss you.”

“Yeah.”

“I love you.”

“I know, Clarke.”

 

-

 

When she opens Bellamy’s Facebook page three days later, there’s a new photo, one he’s been tagged in by someone named Echo. _Took this guy on an early birthday hike_ , the caption reads, underneath the picture of Bellamy posing on top of a rock. Clarke’s stomach drops. It’s his fucking birthday tomorrow. That’s why he was hinting that he wanted her to visit. Guilt thuds in her stomach, and she feels like she’s going to be sick. What kind of self-involved idiot forgets their fiancé’s birthday?

She stares at the photo. He looks happy. He’s grinning goofily at whoever is taking the picture. This Echo woman, Clarke supposes. She wonders why he’s never mentioned her. The guilt that churns in her stomach morphs into something worse, something nasty and sinister, and Clarke clicks on Echo’s name. She’s taken to Echo’s Facebook profile, which is completely public. Her bio reads that she’s an influencer. Clarke rolls her eyes.

She scrolls through Echo’s photos. There’s only the one of Bellamy, the rest are all of Echo herself, posing sexily in all of them. She’s a thin brunette with legs for days. Clarke hates her on sight. She tries to tell herself she’s not jealous. So what if Bellamy went hiking with this woman a day before his birthday? It doesn’t mean anything. Clarke hates hiking, so it’s not like she would have wanted to do that with him anyway. And he’s allowed to have hot friends. There’s no crime against that. Besides, he would never cheat on her. She knows that. Bellamy knows she’s been two-timed before, knows what that did to her. He’d never put her through that.

Still, she has an urge to jump on the next flight and be there for his birthday. Pretend she’d been planning to surprise him all along. But then she thinks about the appointments she’d have to cancel, the clients she might lose, the work she wouldn’t get done. It’s still so early on, she can’t afford to miss even a day.

So instead she goes online and orders flowers to be sent to him. It’s not enough, she knows, but it will have to do.

 

-

 

Clarke had been counting down the weeks until Bellamy returns. But now it’s indefinite, and two months turns into three and then four. They seem to fly by and yet drag on at the same time. She keeps telling herself she’ll go and visit, but then something will come up with work and she has to postpone.

They speak less and less now, and Clarke hates it, and she feels awful, and she knows it’s her fault. But she can’t say anything to make it better, can’t do anything to change it. She just needs him to come home. Then things will go back to normal. She can remind him how much she loves him with actions, instead of just repeating it over and over on the phone, where it sounds weak and far away.

Sometimes when she calls now, he doesn’t even pick up. She cries most nights, missing him more than ever, until one day she can’t take it anymore, and she decides she has to fly out and see him. She calls him while she’s at work to let him know, and thankfully he picks up.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey, I’m a little busy, what’s up?”

“Oh. That’s okay. I was just going to say I think I’m going to come and visit.”

“Oh,” Bellamy says. “You know, you don’t need to. I’ll be back soon. Octavia’s done with physical therapy.”

“She is? That’s great! Did you just find out?”

“Last week.”

“Last week? Why didn’t you call?”

“Sorry. I guess I forgot. Her last session was yesterday. So I’ll be back in a couple of days.”

“A couple of days.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I guess I’ll see you then.”

“See you then.”

“I love you.”

He’s already hung up the phone.

 

-

 

She picks him up at the airport, though he insists she doesn’t have to. They should have a million things to talk about, but the drive is silent.

“Everything okay?” Clarke asks. She knows it’s not. She doesn’t know what’s wrong exactly, but she knows it’s something.

“I’m just tired,” Bellamy says. Clarke nods. She’s not going to cry. For all she knows, there’s nothing to cry about. He probably is tired.

She crawls into bed beside him that night, and she feels this wall between them. She doesn’t know if she put it there, or if he did. She doesn’t want to bring it up, in case she’s being crazy. Doesn’t want to make it real. Doesn’t want to admit that they’re not the same as they were four months ago. That distance didn’t make them stronger, that it chipped away at their bond, and Clarke is afraid that it’s unfixable. She’s afraid she’s the only one who wants to fix it.

“Bellamy,” she whispers. There’s a moment of silence, and Clarke thinks he must be asleep. Or pretending to be asleep.

“Yeah?”

“We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?”

More silence. “I don’t know, Clarke.”

Clarke cries herself to sleep again.

 

-

 

Over the next few days, Clarke tries to make up for lost time. She still has to work, but she comes home as soon as she can, makes him dinner, tells him about her day. Clarke thinks maybe he’s trying too. He goes back to work, and he tells her about the dumb things his students do, like he used to. There are a few moments when they feel like their old selves again, and it gives Clarke a glimmer of hope.

But they still don’t talk about the problem. She doesn’t ask him, and he doesn’t tell her. And as long as they don’t discuss it, it stands between them, this dark unknown that Clarke can’t cross, no matter how much she wants to.

They haven’t had sex in four months. He should be desperate for her, the way she is for him. But he doesn’t reach for her at night, and she can’t bring herself to make the first move.

She wakes up one night, just after four am. Bellamy isn’t in bed. Clarke gets up and pads out to the living room. She can hear him talking in a low whisper, his deep voice filling the room despite trying to be quiet. Clarke stops in the doorway. He’s on the phone.

“Yeah,” he says. “I should go back to bed. Thanks, Echo.”

Clarke’s stomach churns. She’s not sure which emotion is stronger, despair, anger, or jealousy. Bellamy stands and turns. He stops when he sees Clarke standing in the doorway.

“Echo, huh?” she says, trying to keep the hurt from her voice.

“We were just talking,” Bellamy says.

“At four am?” Clarke scoffs. “What’s so important that it couldn’t wait until a reasonable hour?”

“Clarke,” Bellamy huffs. “Don’t make a big deal out of this.”

Clarke shakes her head, outraged and hurt. “Did you fuck her?”

“No,” Bellamy says vehemently. “The fact that you would even _think—”_

“So I’m crazy, is that it? Stupid, paranoid Clarke.”

“I didn’t fuck her.”

“So what, then?” Clarke whispers. Bellamy is silent for a moment.

“You know Octavia’s car accident? Turns out it wasn’t an accident. She ran the red light on purpose.”

Clarke stares at him in shock. “Bellamy—”

“She tried to kill herself. Do you have any idea what that was like for me to find out?”

Clarke shakes her head. “How could I? You never told me. I _wanted_ to be there for you—”

“But you weren’t! You were across the other side of the fucking country. You never even fucking tried to come and see me,” Bellamy snaps, finally losing it.

 “You know why I wasn’t there! I had a business to run! And if you’d just told me—”

“A business that’s more important than your fiancé.”

Clarke wants to slap him. Tears well in her eyes. “You told me to go for it. You wanted me to be successful. How can you throw that in my face now?”

“I’m not throwing it in your face! I’m just pointing out that you made a choice. And your choice had consequences.”

“Consequences? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You asked me what I had with Echo.”

Clarke stares at him. They _have_ something? “What do you mean?”

“I needed someone, and you weren’t there. So I had to turn to someone else.”

Clarke sobs, and the dam breaks. “You shut me out. And then you found someone else to confide in? All the things you should have been telling me, you told _her_? How could you? After what I went through with Finn?”

“Clarke, I never cheated on you.”

“You may as fucking well have!” Clarke screams. “I hate you. I _hate_ you.”

Bellamy’s jaw ticks. “You hate me?”

“Yes, I fucking hate you. I hate you and I don’t want to look at you. Why don’t you go and fuck Echo, since you so obviously want to? We’re done. It’s over.”

Bellamy stares at her, his face hardened. She wants him to hurt, like she hurts. She wants him to break down and cry and tell her he’s sorry and that he loves her and doesn’t want to be without her. She wants him to say that they can work this out, that it’s not too late. But he doesn’t.

“Yeah, I know,” he says. Clarke feels like she’s been punched. All the air leaves her, and she finds herself gasping for breath. He pushes past her, towards the bedroom. Clarke stands there, feeling hopeless and confused. She doesn’t really want it to be over. She’s just angry and hurt.

“Bellamy,” she calls after him, but her voice is barely a whisper. “Bellamy!” she says again, louder this time. She follows him to the bedroom. He has his still half-full suitcase on the bed, and he’s throwing things into it haphazardly. “What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer. He zips up the suitcase and picks it up off the bed. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to look at me another second longer.”

He walks past her, out of the bedroom, and she chases after him. “Where are you even going to go? It’s 4am.”

“I’ll find somewhere.”

“Bellamy,” Clarke says, her voice softening. “Bellamy, don’t go. Please don’t go. I love you.”

He stops, and for the first time, Clarke sees some hint that he still cares for her. Can see him warring with himself, whether to leave, or whether to go to her, comfort her. “I know,” he whispers. “Clarke,” he says, and his voice breaks. “I just can’t do this anymore. Things just aren’t the same. _We’re_ not the same.”

“But what about all the things you said? What about working through things together?” Clarke asks, somehow managing to get words out through her tears. “What about this?” She holds up her left hand, and points to the ring.

A tear runs down his cheek. “I’m sorry. But you let me down when I needed you. And I don’t think I can risk that happening again.”

Clarke swallows the bile that has risen up in her throat. She wants to scream. He’s acting like this is all her fault. Well, fuck him. He’s made up his mind, and she won’t degrade herself by begging any further. She lifts her chin defiantly. “Fine,” she spits. “Go. I hope you and Echo have a very happy life together.”

And then he walks out the door. Clarke sinks to the floor, chest heaving, crying harder than she’s ever cried before.


	2. Meet Me Halfway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have... a lot to say about this fic. But I'm going to shut up and let you read it and form your own opinion. If you want to come and talk to me about it after you can find me on tumblr (arysafics) or twitter (emilyjadeds).

Bellamy doesn’t cry as he makes his way to his car. He doesn’t cry as he throws his bag in the trunk, as he slides into the driver’s seat, as he slams the door, as he starts the car.

He doesn’t know where he’s going. He doesn’t have anywhere to go. He just drives, and as he drives, his heart gets heavier and heavier, and he wonders if it’s too late turn around. Too late to change his mind, to go back and tell her loves her and he wants to fix things.

Despair chokes him, and he swerves the car, pulling over as the tears start to fall, ragged breaths tearing his throat.

“Shit,” he swears. “Fuck. Fuck.”

Part of him feels desperately guilty for the things he said to her. For wanting to hurt her the way she hurt him. For letting her think Echo was anything more than some dumb neighbour of Octavia’s, who happened to be around, who happened to be able to help, who happened to be able to check on Octavia in the middle of the night when he got scared.

But he’s so angry too. Still hurting from how she abandoned him when he needed her most. For shutting him out, for refusing to come visit him even once, not even on his birthday, which he’s still convinced she forgot about, despite the flowers that turned up. For screaming that she hates him, because he’s afraid it might be true.

Deep down, he knows she still loves him. She wouldn’t say it if she didn’t think she meant it. But he’s afraid it’s a complacent kind of love. She loves him because she’s always loved him, because it’s easy. She doesn’t love him the way he loves her. He loves her so much it aches. He wants her to _choose_ him. To choose to love him, for him to be the most important thing in her life. He wants her to be willing to give up everything for him.

Selfish, he knows that. He doesn’t really want her to give up on her dreams. He’s still so proud of what she’s achieved, he is. He just hates that she did it without him. And he wonders, would it have killed her to miss one weekend of work? Just one, to prove to him she still cared.

When he manages to stop sobbing, when his breathing becomes even again, he pulls back onto the empty road. He almost turns around, but something stops him. Pride maybe, or anger, or the stinging pain he still has from the things she yelled at him. The complete awareness of how much she can hurt him, how she could let him down so easily, how she could do it again and again and again.

He still has no clue where he’s going. He drives around town for two hours, on autopilot, wasting gas, thinking about Clarke, about everything he hates about her, everything she did to make him feel worthless. Every mistake he made, everything he did to hurt her, everything he wishes he could take back.

He ends up in Miller’s driveway just after six, and he pounds on the door until Miller answers in his underwear, squinting in confusion.

“Fuck, man,” Miller groans. “What the fuck are you doing here? Do you know what time it is?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy croaks. He’s about one word away from bursting into tears again.

Miller frowns. “Are you okay?”

Bellamy shakes his head. He swallows, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. “I think I just made the worst mistake of my life,” he chokes out, and then he’s crying again.

He falls into Miller’s arms, and Miller drags him inside, shutting the door behind him. Miller pats him on the back, probably an attempt at being soothing, but it’s not really Miller’s strong suit.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Miller says. “What happened?”

Bellamy pulls away, shaking his head. He looks up to see Jackson standing in the doorway to the hallway, wearing a dressing gown.

“Clarke—” Bellamy says, but that’s all he can seem to manage.

“Okay, we can talk about it later,” Miller says. “Why don’t you go lie down in the guest room and try and get some sleep?”

Bellamy nods, and lets Miller lead him to the guest room, where he lies down on the bed, still fully clothed. He can hear Miller and Jackson whispering about him just outside the door.

“What happened?” Jackson asks.

“I don’t know,” Miller whispers back. “Something to do with Clarke. Probably cheated on her or something.”

God, is it so easily to believe he’s capable of that? He didn’t cheat on her. He would _never_. Except, her voice keeps screaming at him _you may as well have_. And the churning in his stomach tells him she might be right.

True, he never fucked Echo. Never even thought about it. He never wanted Echo. He just wanted someone to talk to, to help him with his sister. And it should have been Clarke, but she wasn’t there. She didn’t _want_ to be there. He would’ve have told her everything, leant on her, if she’d just been _present_. But even when they were talking over the phone, it’s like she wasn’t really there. Like talking to him was a chore she had to get through. And besides, how could he tell her these huge things over a phone call?

_Octavia tried to kill herself. I’m afraid she might try again. Some days I can’t make her get out of bed. Sometimes she refuses to go to therapy. Sometimes she screams at me that she wishes she was dead. Sometimes she screams she wishes I was dead. It’s so hard. I can’t do this on my own. I miss you, I need you, I need you._

He feels so pathetic, so weak, to need her so much, when she clearly doesn’t need him at all. Besides, he didn’t want to _guilt_ her into coming. He wanted her to want to be there for him. But she wasn’t, and Echo was, and all too willing. And perhaps he knew Echo had a crush on him, and perhaps he thought if Clarke were jealous it would make her come and see him. Truthfully, he doesn’t give a fuck about Echo. But Clarke doesn’t know that, because he never tried to make her think any different.

Did he have an emotional affair? And are all his reasons enough to convince himself it was justified?

He doesn’t sleep. He cries himself hoarse, until he physically can’t cry anymore, and then he lies there, feeling sick.

He hears Miller get back up just before ten, banging around in the kitchen, probably making breakfast or coffee or both. Bellamy doesn’t think he can eat, but he could use a coffee.

He pads out into the kitchen, and Miller only glances at him before he gets out another mug, and makes the coffee in silence.

He places the full mug in front of Bellamy. “So, what happened?”

Bellamy shakes his head. It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell Miller, get it off his chest, maybe get some advice from an impartial third party. But he just can’t seem to formulate the words. Can’t say it out loud, can barely bear to think it. _It’s over_.

He swallows down his coffee, scalding his tongue, and he tries to pretend the tears are from the pain of the burns, and not the pain of his broken heart.

 

-

 

Somehow the world keeps turning. He’s not sure how life can just go on when he feels like this. He feels like time should stop, like the earth should stop turning, like the sun should stop rising.

He goes to work the next day. And the next, and the next, because he has to. He drags himself through the day, trudging along, trying to keep his mind on work. He smiles when he’s expected to smile, laughs when he’s expected to laugh. Pretending like everything is fine, like everything doesn’t remind him of her, like he’s not totally wrecked inside. His chest is hollow and his body is numb without her.

Why won’t she just call? If she just called him and told him she was sorry, he could say he was sorry too, and then they could start rebuilding the life they let crumble.

He could call first. He could apologise. He knows he has things to apologise for. But the more days that pass without hearing from her, the more Bellamy convinces himself that he was right: she doesn’t really love him. She doesn’t need him. She’s fine without him. Maybe she hates him, like she said she did.

Maybe her apology wouldn’t be enough anyway. Maybe it’s too late, it’s too much. Maybe he’s too aware of how much power she has over him, of how much she hurt him, or how he trusted her with his heart and she let him down. Because that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? Yes, he did things to hurt her too, said things he didn’t mean, let her think things with Echo were more than they were. But she hurt him first. She pulled away first, she let him flounder on his own and he’s not even halfway to forgiving her for that.

So he doesn’t call her. And the longer he doesn’t call her, the more he resents her for getting on without him, even though he’s the one that left her, even though she begged him to stay. He convinces himself he never mattered to her. He convinces himself she only wanted him because he worshipped her, because their life was easy and comfortable. And the minute things got hard she checked out.

He makes Miller go and get more of his things. He gives Miller his key and lets him know when Clarke will be out. He can’t bear to be in their apartment for a second. He knows he’ll eventually have to go and clean out his things properly, but the wounds are still too fresh to do that yet.

At night, when he’s not replaying their last fight over in his head, he’s imagining he never left. He imagines holding her at night, kissing her, making love to her. He imagines her laughing at his dumb jokes. He imagines running his fingers through her hair as they cuddle on the couch, watching their favourite shows. He imagines cooking for her, telling her about his day, hearing about hers.

It’s then, in the middle of the night, when he’s closest to calling her. Or not even calling her, just showing up at her apartment, begging her for her forgiveness, screw his prideful need for an apology from her. Screw his doubts and his fears. What the fuck does anything else matter when he loves her and he wants her and he needs her?

But then morning comes, and he remembers all the reasons he left. All the reasons he’s scared to see her again, all the reasons he needs to hear her say she’s sorry.

He still calls Octavia every day, most days more than once. He’s sure she’s exasperated with him for being so overprotective, but how could he not be after what happened? He panics whenever she doesn’t pick up right away, and he still has the occasional nightmare about her dying, but he can’t bring himself to call Echo and ask her to check on his sister. Not after the last time.

He doesn’t tell Octavia about Clarke at first. He doesn’t want to worry her with his problems when she’s going through enough shit of her own. But eventually she asks how Clarke is, and Bellamy can’t bring himself to lie.

“O,” Bellamy says. He swallows. “Clarke and I—we aren’t together anymore.” The words choke him as the come out of his mouth.

“What did you do?” Octavia accuses.

Bellamy opens his mouth, shuts it again. Then settles on, “I left her.” His voice is small, quiet. Saying it out loud still causes him physical pain.

“You _left_ her? _Why_?”

“It’s complicated,” he groans.

“It’s _complicated_?” Octavia says in disbelief. “Bellamy, what the fuck is wrong with you? Go and fucking work it out with her. That’s the love of your life right there.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Bellamy snaps. “It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?”

“We said a lot of things. Things that can’t just be taken back. And I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to repair what those four months apart did to us.”

“Do you _want_ to fix it?”

Bellamy hesitates. The simple answer is _yes_. Yes, of course he does. All he wants is to go back in time and do it all different. But he knows it’s more complicated than that.

“I don’t know,” he whispers. “I don’t know if—”

“If what?”

“If she loves me. If she can ever love me as much as I love her.”

“Are you a fucking idiot?” Octavia huffs. He imagines her rolling her eyes at him, looking at him like he’s the biggest tool on the planet. Maybe he is. “Of course she fucking loves you. Have you seen the way she looks at you? That girl thinks you hung the moon.”

“She told me she hates me.”

“For leaving her?”

Bellamy shakes his head. “For—for talking to another woman.”

“Talking to.”

Bellamy groans. “I don’t know. For fucking—leaning on somebody else when Clarke wasn’t there.”

“So you cheated on her. With _Echo_? Fuck I hate her. She’s a nosy bitch.”

“I didn’t cheat on her. I didn’t fuck Echo.”

“Does Clarke know that?”

“Yes. Well—yes. She knows I would never do that to her. But—” _You may as well have._ “But it hurt her, to know that I was confiding in someone else, when I should have been confiding in her,” he admits.

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, well. She hurt me too,” Bellamy snaps. “She shut me out too. She got on with her life while I was fucking drowning, and she never even apologised for it. Couldn’t see how it felt for me for one second, because she was too busy with her new business.”

“The business you encouraged her to start?”

“Whose side are you on?”

“Bellamy,” Octavia says, gentler now. “I’m not saying it’s all your fault. I’m saying if you want to make things right, you have to take some responsibility for your part in it.”

Bellamy swallows. Octavia’s right, he knows Octavia’s right. “I know,” he whispers. “God, I know. I know I fucked up. I just—I’m scared.”

“What are you scared of?”

“I’m scared she’ll hurt me again. I’m scared I fucked it up so badly we’ll never be able to get back what we had. I’m scared of being without her. I’m scared I’ll hold her back. I’m scared she’ll never forgive me for this.”

“Let me ask you one thing. Are you ever going to get over her?”

The question stuns him. Such a fucking stupid question. Of course he’s never going to get over her. He shakes his head. “No,” he whispers.

Octavia grows quiet then. “Bellamy,” she says, and she almost sounds like she’s on the verge of tears. “Do you have any idea of what I would do to have Lincoln back?”

“O—”

“Don’t fuck this up. You’ve still got a chance to be with your soulmate.”

Bellamy swallows. “I’m so sorry, O.”

“Don’t tell me that. Tell her.”

They say their goodbyes, and Bellamy hangs up, feeling empty. Octavia makes it sound like it could be so easy. Like he could just apologise and everything would be fine. He knows it’s not as simple as that. There are a hundred other things to consider. His feelings, his pride, his fears. But more importantly, _Clarke’s_ feelings, _Clarke’s_ pride, _Clarke’s_ fears.

Does she even think there’s anything to salvage? And what would it take to even make her want to fix it?

 

 

-

 

He doesn’t call. He almost does, every night for a week after Octavia laid out the truth in front of him. Just looking at her name on his screen makes his heart ache. But he never goes through with it, because he’s afraid she won’t pick up, and that would be worse than not knowing.

But then he’s eating dinner with Miller and Jackson, and they’re being all flirty and stupid with each other, acting like they’re being subtle, when it’s obvious that as soon as dinner is over they’re going retreat to the bedroom for some “alone time” as Miller likes to call it when Bellamy’s around.

Bellamy feels sick watching them, sick because he could have that, and he doesn’t because he ruined it. And he can’t stand it any longer. Can’t stand being without her, pretending like he’s ever going to be okay without her.

He stands up unceremoniously, his meal untouched. Miller and Jackson eye him in confusion as he heads for the door.

“Where are you going?” Miller calls.

“To see Clarke,” he yells back.

By some miracle, he doesn’t change his mind on the way back to their apartment. Maybe she still loves him or maybe she doesn’t, but he has to know either way.

He parks his car in the underground garage, next to the spot where Clarke’s should be, but it isn’t there. It’s after seven, he thought she’d be home by now. Perhaps she’s out with friends. Perhaps she’s out on a date.

He goes upstairs, all too aware of the racing of his heart, the swirl of his stomach, even though he knows she’s not home. He should probably leave. Wait for her to be home, call her to ask if he can see her, rather than ambushing her like this. But he’s here now, and if he leaves, he might not ever get the nerve to come back again.

He unlocks the door and switches on the light. The place is a mess. Papers scattered all over the coffee table, and a collection of dirty glasses. A pile of laundry strewn over the couch. It doesn’t look like she’s cleaned in a month. Too busy, probably. And yet the place didn’t look like this when he was gone last time.

He makes his way to the kitchen and sees the sink filled with dirty dishes. Clarke has never been the tidiest person, but she’d never let it get this bad unless she was physically incapable of doing something about it. Or mentally incapable of facing it.

He swallows. He doesn’t want to think about the implications of the messy apartment. If it has something to do with him, or if she really is just too busy. Almost unthinkingly, he rolls up his sleeves and starts filling the sink, hoping the methodical cleaning will calm his nerves, give him time to work out what he’s going to say to her.

The kitchen is almost spotless by the time he hears the front door open. He freezes, and the zen he’d managed to find while washing dishes evaporates.

“Bellamy?” Clarke calls out, unsteady.

Bellamy can feel something lodged in his throat, choking him, as he dries his hands on a dish towel then walks out of the kitchen and into the living room. She’s standing in the doorway, like she’s afraid to come inside. She stares at him, face white, like he might be a ghost.

“Hey,” Bellamy croaks. “Sorry. Sorry to just show up like this.”

Clarke shakes her head, disbelieving. She looks exhausted, though her hair and make-up are done. Her clothes are stylish and professional, although unironed. She clutches her handbag under her arm like a security blanket.

“What are you doing here?”

Bellamy licks his lips. “I just—want to talk.”

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. He wants to ask her if she still loves him, if she’ll take him back, if there’s any chance to save this. But he can’t just blurt all that out right away. He has to work up to it.

“How’s the business?” he asks.

“It’s great,” Clarke says flatly. Then, bitter, “How’s _Echo_?”

Bellamy flinches. “Clarke,” he says, and he’s already pleading. “I’m not with Echo. I don’t want Echo, I never wanted Echo. Please believe me.”

Clarke looks away, chewing the inside of her cheek. She finally steps inside and closes the door behind her, and Bellamy has half a second of relief, half a second to believe she’ll come around, that they can work this out.

But then she says, “I think you should go.” And it’s so quiet, so icy, it makes Bellamy’s blood turn cold. She does hate him after all then. But he needs her to say it. Needs to hear her say it’s over, to tell him she doesn’t love him, doesn’t want him. Needs to get all the other shit off his chest. He can’t leave here until they both have closure, at the very least.

“No,” he says. “No, I’m not leaving.”

Clarke tosses her bag onto the couch. “Why not?” she says. He can tell she’s trying to remain unaffected, but her voice shakes. “You were perfectly happy to leave last time. You made it look so easy.”

“I was angry,” he says. “I was hurt. I just needed—”

“Stop. Stop it,” Clarke snaps. He looks at her, and he can see tears glistening in the corner of her eyes. God, he’s an asshole. “It’s been a fucking month, Bellamy. A month and I’ve heard nothing from you, a month and I’m still fucking crying myself to sleep, wondering why you won’t call me, trying to accept that it’s really over. A month, and now you show up out of nowhere, and you want to talk?”

“Clarke—”

“How can you come in here and tell me you never felt anything for Echo, after letting me believe you were leaving me for her? How can you ask me how my business is doing like it’s not the reason we’re not together?”

“That’s not the reason.”

“You told me you loved me. You encouraged me to chase my dreams, you asked me to marry you. You told me we could make it through anything together.” She crying now, tears streaming down her face, and Bellamy knows she’s been holding onto this anguish, these words, since he left. “And then at the first sign of trouble, you ran.”

“ _I_ ran?” Bellamy snaps. “Fucking hell, Clarke. You barely spoke to me for months. Not about anything real. I needed you. My sister was fucking suicidal, and all I wanted was for you to come and tell me it was all going to be okay, but you couldn’t even leave your precious business for one day.”

“You never told me Octavia tried to kill herself! You never told me anything, because you were telling _Echo_.”

“I know! I know,” Bellamy softens. “I shouldn’t have done that. God, if I could take it back, I would. I’m sorry.”

Clarke looks stunned at that. Like she wasn’t expecting an apology. “You’re sorry?”

Bellamy nods. He has tears in his own eyes now. “I’m so fucking sorry, Clarke. I meant what I said before. Echo is nothing to me. She’s just Octavia’s neighbour. She said she’d check in Octavia for me. I confided in her too much. I told her things I should’ve told you. But I just—I missed you so much. You checked out on me. And I promise I never wanted you to give up your business for me, but I feel like you gave up on me for your business. I really needed you, and you weren’t there.”

Clarke blinks back tears. “Did you ever think maybe I needed you too? It was so hard doing it on my own, when you were supposed to be here supporting me. And I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to make you feel guilty for helping your sister when I wanted you to be with me.”

Bellamy swallows. Somehow she’s closer than before, though he doesn’t know which of them moved, or if it was both of them.

“It’s going amazing, by the way,” Clarke says. “The business. But the awful thing is, none of it means anything without you.”

“Clarke—"

“I’m sorry,” Clarke whispers. “I’m sorry too. I wanted to be there for you, but I didn’t know how. And you—you stopped telling me you loved me,” she sobs. “And I thought it was all my fault, I thought I made you stop loving me. But really it was because you started loving Echo instead.”

“No,” Bellamy says fiercely. He’s right in front of her now, close enough to touch, but he holds back. His heart is thrumming, whether from the adrenalin of their argument, or her proximity to him, he doesn’t know. “No. Clarke, no. I never stopped loving you. I only stopped saying it because it hurt too much to say it out loud, when I thought you didn’t mean it the way I meant it.”

Clarke shakes her head, confused. “How could you think that?”

Bellamy studies her for a moment. He’s not sure what happens next. Both of them have apologised, laid all their cards out on the table. All he wants to do is grab her and kiss her and make love to her. It’s been so long. He needs her like he’s never needed anyone else.

But even after everything they’ve said, after all they’ve confessed, he still doesn’t know if it’s enough. If there’s even a small hope that they can rekindle what they had.

“Clarke,” Bellamy chokes out, tears welling in his eyes again. He’s weak for her, and he no longer wants to be ashamed of that. “Tell me there’s still a chance for us. Tell me you still have hope.”

She hesitates, and it breaks his heart a little. “I don’t know,” she whispers.

“Do you still love me?” he dares to ask. He reaches out, brushing her arm with his fingers. She doesn’t pull away.

Clarke nods sharply. “Of course, I do,” she says, voice quivering. “But it hurts so much.”

“Let me make it better,” Bellamy breathes, and then he’s tugging her close with his strong hands, pulling her mouth to his.

A whimper escapes her as their lips meet, and she opens for him instantly, her tongue meeting his, her arms curling around his neck like it’s second nature. He’s thought about this so often lately, and in his imagination it’s always slow and tender, all about him showing her how much he loves her.

In reality, his desperation is too much to combat. He devours her, and she’s just as hungry for him. He pulls at her clothes gracelessly, and the garments are discarded on the floor, leaving a trail as they stumble towards the bedroom, unable to stop touching each other for even a moment, whether it’s their lips or their tongues or their hands or their bodies.

Bellamy’s hands are shaking, and Clarke is trembling too. They fall onto the bed, naked and wrapped in each other. Bellamy doesn’t stop to wonder if this is a good idea or not. He kisses her all over her body, like he’s been longing to do for months, until she drags his mouth back to hers and wraps her hand around his cock, guiding him to her entrance, where he sheaths himself inside her forcefully.

She’s so familiar, her sounds, her movements, her touch. He remembers everything about her body, everything she likes, and she knows him just as well. And yet it’s different to any other time. More raw, more emotional even than the time just after they told each other they loved each other for the first time. It’s like they never stopped, yet like they’ve never done this before at the same time.

Her name rolls off his lips as her fucks her, like he can call her back to him if he says it enough. She echoes him, reciting his name back to him.

And then, because he knows she needs to hear it, because he means it, and because he never told her enough before, “ _I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you_ ,” until she comes, crying, tears of pleasure, and, Bellamy is sure, heartache too. He follows her over the edge, coming inside her, finding a small amount of relief, though his heart is still heavy, and will be until he hears her say she still wants to be with him.

He doesn’t want to let her go, and she seems reluctant to move as well. He shifts so he’s lying beside her instead of on top of her, and tentatively reaches for her hand. She lets him intertwine their fingers.

“Clarke,” he says hoarsely. “I don’t want to be without you. I can’t be. I want to fix this. Please, please, give me a second chance. Give _us_ a second chance. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Clarke murmurs. Her cheeks are stained with tears. “But what if it’s not enough?”

It’s a valid concern. It wasn’t enough last time. Why is this time any different?

“It’s not,” Bellamy says. A look of panic flashes across her face. His thumb rubs the back of her hand. “It’s not enough. But we know that now. Now we know we have to work fucking hard if we want to make this work. We know we have to compromise, we know we have to communicate. We know we have to swallow our pride sometimes. I know I still have a lot of making up to do.”

“Me too,” Clarke says. “I want to make it right. I want you.”

“It’s not going to be easy.”

“I know. But if you’re willing to try, then so am I.”

Bellamy smiles, and Clarke mirrors him, and he feels a weight lift off his chest. “I love you,” he tells her again. “So what do you say?” He brings her hand to his lips and kisses her softly. “Can I come home?”

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> main tumblr: keiraknighted  
> fic tumblr: arysafics


End file.
